


I Hate Magic

by annagarny



Series: New York State of Mind [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-08
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-01 15:36:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annagarny/pseuds/annagarny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil really, really hates magic. He never believed in magic before he started working at SHIELD, and honestly he still wasn't sure he did believe in it, really. It was just technology that wasn't yet understood, or at least, that's how Thor explained it.</p>
<p>Didn't stop him from hating it, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Disaster Struck

It had been six months since he'd smashed the Reidel vase in Tony Stark's Malibu mansion and Stark was still coming up with excuses to rib him about it - from asking how his scar was to referring to Clint as Phil's 'nursemaid'. Phil was very close to the end of his tether.

Sure, for the week after the injury, Clint had been the best boyfriend a guy could ask for, sorry, the best 'man' a guy could ask for. He'd helped Phil get around the mansion, he'd bought him coffee and even somehow palmed a tablet computer from somewhere so that Phil could actually get some work done while he was restricted in his movements. Clint had even helped him to duct tape a garbage bag around his foot so that he could shower. That had, unfortunately, deteriorated quickly into a two-man shower and the bandages had gotten wet and needed replacing anyway, but the thought was there. Clint's sleeping pattern was still fucked up beyond recognition, but Phil was able to pin him down at least four or five hours a night. 

They discovered rather quickly that sex of any description would render Barton unable to move or speak for a good twenty minutes post-orgasm, and if Phil timed it right he could usually turn the lull into proper, natural rest, even if it meant rolling onto his back and holding Clint in place on his chest with both arms around his torso and their legs twisted together. Who was he to complain about the method used when it was mutually agreeable?

Then, they'd had to go back to New York. 

Barely a week into the new 'thing' they were doing and Clint was true to his word - when Phil left the airport, still on crutches, Clint just picked up both of their bags and held open the passenger door of the Acura for him, parked it in the basement of Phil's building and keyed the code for the door as if he'd done it a thousand times.

By the end of the next month Clint's apartment had been cleared out (Thor was very handy to have around when it came to moving sofas) and was being sub-let to a friend of Natasha's who needed somewhere to stay in Manhattan. 

At around the three-month mark, Fury started making noises about what their status was, not asking directly, but both of them did receive notice about their company-sponsored life insurance renewals and ensuring that the beneficiary details were correctly filled out.

Clint did his usual trick, deflecting and dancing around the topic, before finally admitting that Phil had been his beneficiary for the better part of two years, already. It made Phil feel less guilty about the fact that he'd updated his own details to have Clint listed in the correct tab just before his own birthday, a good five months before the incident with the vase. 

There were no raised eyebrows, no questioning looks, hell, Natasha didn't even pull Phil aside and threaten him with disembowelment if he hurt Clint in any way, shape or form. 

(In fact, Tasha may or may not have cornered Clint in the shooting range at around midnight one night and used some very descriptive language about how many ways she could and would hurt him if he fucked up this amazing thing that he had somehow managed to latch onto. Clint just nodded and went home to rub Phil's feet before they had some of the most amazing sex of their relationship, so far).

So, now they were back in Manhattan, sharing an apartment and wasn't that an adjustment. Clint was used to being at HQ all the time, so having an actual 'home time' took some getting used to, and more than one instance of Phil coming down to the range around ten PM to drag him home and make him eat, sleep and watch trash TV.

But it worked, somehow it all worked. Clint hogged the covers, Phil filled the DVR with 'Toddlers and Tiaras' marathons. Tony teased them mercilessly and Steve turned bright pink when a sketch of Clint and Phil sitting together in the cafeteria was discovered folded into one of his mission reports. 

Phil just smiled and smoothed it out carefully, sent Darcy a quick e-mail and when she came back from her break she handed him a small wooden frame. Steve's blush when he noticed the sketch next to Phil's keyboard the next time he reported to their handler was enough to almost set his face on fire, but Phil's mouth quirked in something close to a grin and Steve realised that he wasn't being messed with.

From then on, Phil would find small sketches in virtually every folder that Steve sent his way, and they gradually built up into a collection of little moments captured by a very talented artist, kept in a small Moleskine notebook, slipped between pages with dates and indecipherable notes like 'silver wristwatch' or '54th precinct' on the opposing pages. 

Six months of little reasons to smile and a warm body in the bed next to him was apparently all the happiness that the universe thought Phil deserved, at a stretch.

Because then, of course, disaster struck.


	2. Two

It wasn't even Loki, this time. Usually when there was magic and it was green, then Thor's brother was behind it, and although it would be less than pleasant, after the debacle in Manhattan he was more mischievous than malicious of late. Anyway, Odin had his adopted son fairly well under control and mostly back in Asgard these days - part of the treaty stated that Earth had to receive notice if he went missing, wanted to visit or did anything, well, interesting.

 

This time the green mist curling around the place where Barton had been embedded in his nest was courtesy of Amora, aka the Enchantress, a woman who evidently had it in for the Avengers simply because Thor was part of the team.

Oh, sure, there was back-story there, something about him spurning her advances and preferring to spend his time with Jane, but right at this moment, Phil didn't care. All that mattered was that Clint had been cut off mid-sentence and no matter how loudly Coulson shouted, he wasn't responding over the comms.

Amora had vanished in a pillar of green and purple flames and Thor had taken to the sky, evidently giving chase. Loki was still nowhere to be found and the rest of the Avengers were still milling about, well, except for Stark, who had shot after Thor in that suit of his, not that Phil thought he honestly had a chance of keeping up with the god when he was in full flight, but it was a nice thing that he was even making the effort.

He didn't wait for an all-clear, or for any notification at all through the comms, in fact. He tore his earpiece out so that he could legitimately say that he hadn't been told to stand down, and bolted across the street towards the hidey-hole Clint had installed himself in, where he had been trying to get a shot off at the woman who was creating havoc downtown with her swirling green mists and insanely tousled blonde hair. Phil felt his feet slipping on the wet ground and the spray from one of the dislodged fire hydrants distracted him for a moment, before he dug his toes in and kept running, straight at the place he'd last caught a glimpse of Clint.

There were a few wisps of green smoke still curling, but the water raining down had dispersed most of it. Phil stuttered to a stop and his mouth fell open, legitimate shock and awe at the scope of the damage causing his composure to slip for a full ten seconds before his training kicked in and he stepped over to the small crater and reached out a shaking hand towards...

Well, it had to be Clint, didn't it? Phil looked at his own, shaking, fingers and clenched his fist tight for a moment, steeling himself. He took a deep breath and extended his fingers, barely grazing the top of the blonde head.

The boy looked up and his grey eyes immediately locked onto Phil's, terror and panic fading as he recognised safety in the man looming above him. He'd been curled into the foetal position, protecting his face with his arms, but when he'd felt soft fingers touching his head he'd lifted his gaze and found Phil looking down at him.

Phil was still in shock, because there had been some screwy things happening in his life since he'd been part of SHIELD, and those screwy things had become exponentially weirder since the Avengers Initiative had happened.

Not more than a few months ago, Loki had appeared to Tony Stark as a busty brunette and proceeded to seduce him almost into bed before revealing his true form, much to Stark's chagrin. That same week Thor had revealed his own proficiency with Asgardian tech, well, the higher-end stuff that still looked magic to most mortals, and had demonstrated the methods used to invert gender - by turning Tony into a woman.

The complaining about having to wear a bra and how his armour didn't fit any more, not to mention the whining about being even shorter than usual had been almost unbearable, except that everyone was having so much fun at Tony's expense that Thor refused to change him back for almost a week.

There was a theory behind the apparent gender swap, something involving quantum mechanics and the multiverse theory, but Phil had no vested interest in how it was done, he just enjoyed the teasing along with the rest of them, not actually joining in, but he may have allowed an expression of genuine amusement pass across his features when Clint had started calling him "Antonia" and "Miss Stark". He may have even chuckled when Steve had joined in.

But this, this was unprecedented.

The boy in the hole was in Barton's clothes, the vest and pants loose on his tiny frame, his legs only extending about halfway down them so that Clint's boots were empty. His bow was still gripped in his hands, but the nocked arrow had fallen to the ground, and his quiver, not held in place between his shoulders now that he was so much smaller, had slid around to the boys' side.

To Phil's somewhat untrained eyes, the kid looked about four years old, and was staring at Phil like he was the only person in the world.

"Clint?" He asked, his hand still touching the top of the boys' downy forehead, and the kid nodded, just once, his bottom lip trembling as he held out his arms towards Phil, letting the bow drop to the bottom of the crater.

"Oh, god. Clint! What the hell happened?" Phil dropped into a crouch and caught the boy with both hands, lifting him out of the hole in the ground and wrapping him up in a protective hug. He didn't notice at the time, but the action pulled the boys' legs out of Clint's pants, leaving the boy dressed in just Clint's combat vest, which reached his knees anyway. The quiver of arrows clattered to the ground and Phil was never more grateful than in that moment that Stark had finally perfected the incendiary arrow-heads to only explode at certain velocities.

Clint didn't actually answer, just latched onto Phil like a limpet, trembling as Phil held him tight.

Phil had never seen any pictures of Clint when he was a kid, as far as he knew, even Clint himself didn't have anything that showed him any younger than about twenty-something, but there was no doubt in Phil's mind that this child was Clinton Francis Barton, and that it was his, Phil's, job, to keep him safe.

He heard soft footsteps behind him, splashing along the wet pavement, and recognised Steve's gait before Captain America entered his peripheral vision.

"Coulson? What's going on?" he asked, and Phil turned his head slightly, the boy still wrapped in a protective cocoon, to answer Steve.

"I hate magic. I really do. Where's Banner? He's in touch with Jane Foster, isn't he? We need to get onto the Asgardians."  
"What? Why?"  
"Because this is Clint Barton." Phil lifted his chin to reveal the boy, and to his eternal credit, Steve just nodded, once, and motioned to someone over Phil's shoulder.  
"Okay, Phil, you keep hold of him, I'll get a retrieval team in here and we'll contain the situation."  
"Alright."

It was about then that Phil noticed the boy shaking, pressing his face into Phil's shoulder and one tiny hand curled in his shirt, the other gripping his tie hard enough to be pulling Phil's neck down slightly as the kid burrowed against him. Phil got the impression that disconnecting him would be a bad idea, not only for the health of his clothing, but because from the heat and dampness spreading through to his undershirt, Phil got the distinct impression that the boy was crying. No matter that he looked like he was four, he would be beyond mortified and possibly murderous if anyone but Phil knew it.

Phil didn't move, much, just shuffled his feet so that instead of rocking on his heels he settled, seated, on the edge of the crater and adjusted his grip so that he was cradling the boy, murmuring wordlessly and running his hand up and down his back, soothing.

The kid's grip didn't lessen, but he did seem to relax a little, from what Phil could tell.

It only took about five minutes for the containment and retrieval teams to arrive, but in those five minutes, Phil made a lot of executive decisions, including but not limited to the fact that this kid, if indeed it was Barton (not that there was any doubt in his own mind, but SHIELD would require empirical evidence, probably a DNA swab and a full blood workup) would not be let out of his sight for the foreseeable future.

None of the agents on the retrieval team seemed too keen to actually touch Barton, though, so Phil wasn't even challenged in his ownership of the current problem. He accepted a sample swab from one of the agents who approached wielding it, leaned back a little and opened his own mouth, the boy mimicked him without seeming to think, and Phil poked the cotton part into his mouth, scraping it down the inside of the kid's cheek and sealing it as he pulled it back out, handed it to the agent and considered his options for getting to his feet. He knew that the DNA test would just be the start of it, but he was determined to keep the boy out of the labs as much as possible- this kid was not turning into a pin-cushion or a science project while Phil Coulson was in charge of him.

"Help me up." He instructed the junior agent who had handed him the swab, holding out one hand while his other arm remained clamped around Clint's middle - he caught the junior by the forearm and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet, then returned his hand to the centre of Clint's back and started giving instructions as Clint pushed his face under Phil's lapel.

"Someone bag his gear, have everything delivered to the labs for analysis. Can I get a blanket? His legs are freezing already and we need to dry him off. Dammit, where's the transport?"

Not thirty seconds after he'd 'requested' it a black SUV pulled up and as he began to walk towards it another member of the retrieval team handed him an orange waffle blanket, Phil recognised it as part of the first-aid kit, one of the blankets used for when people were in shock, so he accepted it, tossed it over the shoulder not being death-gripped by a toddler, and approached the SUV, opening the back door and stepping into it, pulling the blanket off his shoulder and wrapping it around Clint as tightly as he could manage one-handed.

Someone outside the vehicle closed the door and tapped on it, they lurched forwards and Clint's grip tightened momentarily before he relaxed again, and they were making their way back towards SHIELD HQ.

"Clint, are you okay?" Phil asked, his lips pressed to the top of the boys' head.  
"Safe." the boy muttered, and Phil hugged him tighter for just a moment, before releasing him and tilting his head, trying to look the boy in the eye.  
"Do you know who I am?"  
Clint nodded.  
"What's my name?"  
"Phil."  
"Who am I?"  
"You keep me safe."

Phil supposed, for a toddler, that was a pretty accurate description of what Phil was to Clint, although it made a lump rise in Phil's throat to hear it put that way.

"What happened? Do you remember?" Phil knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that these questions should be saved for a debriefing, or at least until they were somewhere that Clint's responses could be recorded, but he didn't really care right now. He wanted to get a handle on Clint's faculties, what memory he had and what kind of coping he might be able to do, before anyone else interacted with him too much.

"Green magic, not Loki. A lady, with blonde hair. She shot a green light at me and it hurt, Phil. I lost my bow, did someone find it? I want my bow."  
"One of the retrieval team will have your bow, Clint, it'll be safe."  
"Kay."  
"Do you know where we're going?"  
"SHIELD, because we have to. I don't want to."  
"Why not?"  
"Don't want to get needles. Want to go home."

From these two sentences Phil divined a lot - Clint was definitely aware of what was happening, he'd retained most of his knowledge, clearly, because he knew that going back to SHIELD in his current form was going to lead to a lengthy medical investigation. He might not be able to articulate it, but the boy was frightened of being poked, prodded and subjected to rigorous testing.

That, and it was the first time that he'd referred to Phil's apartment as 'home'. For the last few months it had been 'your place' or 'the apartment', but now it was 'home'.

"We'll go home as soon as we can, okay? And I promise I'll only let the doctors take two vials of blood."  
"Can I get a Superman bandaid?"  
Phil almost rolled his eyes at that - because it didn't seem to matter if he was four or thirty-four, some things about Clint really didn't change.  
"You can get two Superman band-aids if you want to, and maybe even a lollipop."  
"Grape. Not cherry."  
"I know. Shhh, we're almost there."  
"Can you stay with me or will you need to talk to Fury?" Phil's mouth quirked a little at the syntax - it was the first sentence that had come out of the kids' mouth that sounded almost exactly like Clint Barton.  
"I'm not going anywhere. You're not wearing pants - I'd never leave you alone with the nurses when you don't have any underwear."  
Clint's cheeks went pink at that, and he gave Phil a hard look that might have, on a grown man, been interpreted as a glare, but on a toddler it was simply adorable.  
"I'll stay with you, Clint. Promise."  
"Good." and with that, Clint pushed himself back under Phil's lapel, effectively ending the conversation.

Phil sighed, squeezed Clint just once, then leaned back in the seat, relaxing a little, as the SUV entered the first security checkpoint of the underground parking garage that made up the bottom five floors of SHIELD.


	3. proof of concept

Back at SHIELD, on the fifth floor, Phil wound his way through the crowded halls towards the medical wing, attracting more than a few strange looks because he was carrying a four-year-old wrapped in a shock blanket.

Strange looks aside, it wasn't any different to any other trip to Medical with Clint in his care, except this time Barton was only three and a half feet tall and instead of bleeding everywhere while Phil dragged him down the hallway he was drooling into Phil's lapel and the weight on Phil's bad shoulder was barely noticeable, compared to the usual stress put on it by an injured or incapacitated Clint.

Somewhere between the parking lot and the Medical wing, Clint had dropped off to sleep, but his eyes fluttered open and his grip tightened on Phil when they were stopped just inside the doors of Medical.

"Agent, what's going on? All civilians are to be taken to area hospitals, not SHIELD medical, this wing is for personnel only."  
"This isn't a civilian."  
"I don't care if he's your nephew or what, he's not an agent so he can't be in here!"  
"This is Agent Barton."  
"Oh, yeah, right. Take him to Midtown -we don't deal with kids here." the doctor scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Phil took a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to find his calm place, but instead found a tiny heart hammering against his own chest - Clint was awake again and had apparently heard the 'doctor' disparaging him.

"I'm not going anywhere. Call Director Fury and have him come down here if you like but Rogers will back me up - this is Barton. Amora was on Fifteenth and he got hit with a bolt of something green and Asgardian so he looks a bit-"  
"That is not Barton, that's a kid wrapped in a shock blanket that you're trying to get into my secure medical facility."

Phil bit his lip for one moment before looking down at Clint, who had stopped shaking and was looking up at him like he was the centre of the universe, but there was a glint in the kids' eye that was very familiar. It was the look that Clint usually got right before someone was on the receiving end of a complete tear-down, usually courtesy of Barton's left hook. But this time, he was too small to actually do that, so Phil raised an eyebrow and the boy nodded.

Phil dropped to his haunches and set the boy down, then drew himself back up to his full height, taking note that the boy was gripping the blanket in front of his chest with one hand, and the other arm was now curled around Phil's knee, holding onto him like an anchor.

"What is your name?" Phil asked, his voice low.  
"Alexander West."  
"Well, Dr West, I'm Philip Coulson. Do you know what that means?"  
"That you're a SHIELD agent who thinks he's important."  
"You must be new. I'm a level twelve agent, doctor. That means that I have access to parts of this facility that don't even exist. It also means that I have liberty to bring whatever or whoever I like into this medical wing. Now, step aside, or I'll have you reassigned to a country you've never heard of."

Dr West, at about the 'level twelve' part of that speech, began to pale. It was around the 'reassigned' part that the gravity of the situation seemed to hit him and he was suddenly stepping aside very fast, allowing Phil to pick Clint back up and stride down the hall towards the private rooms reserved for exclusive use by the Avengers and their support teams.

"That was awesome." Clint told him, climbing up Phil's side, using his collar for leverage. Phil hoisted Clint higher against him so that the boys' elbow was resting on Phil's shoulder and he could look around, at the same level as the other adults milling about. The fact that he was dressed in a combat vest and an orange blanket didn't seem to bother him, but then, Phil considered, more than twice he'd dragged Barton through these halls in much less dignified states of dress - there had been the incident at two AM when Clint had exited the Mansion at such speed that he'd neglected his uniform entirely, flying into the fray with his quiver, bow and blue-striped boxer briefs, getting shot twice and then being dragged through half of Manhattan with his ass hanging out - the boxers had been beyond repair by the time he'd reached medical and he'd been sent home in scrubs.

Nobody else in the department so much as looked at them sideways - either they knew Phil by sight or reputation, or had witnessed him ripping West a new one - as he traversed the halls with a toddler on his hip.

"This thing's going nuts." Clint said as they entered a private patient room, and Phil turned his head to see that Clint had picked up his discarded earpiece, it must have been dangling between his shoulders since Fifteenth.

"Put it in my ear, buddy, let's see what's going on."  
"Okay." Clint's smaller hands didn't seem to affect his dexterity, he tugged the earpiece up and threaded it over Phil's ear, pressing the speaker into place and watching as Phil's eyebrows drew together.

"What?" Clint asked after almost a minute of Phil listening intently. Clint could hear tinny voices from where he was still perched on Phil's hip, but couldn't make out much more than the odd word.

"Stark's on his way back, Jane Foster has spoken to Heimdall and Loki is being sent down here this afternoon to see if he can fix you. Stark is fifteen minutes out."  
"What about Fury?"  
"He's on his way down, apparently word's got around that you're stuck to me, so everyone's coming to us." Phil told him, still listening to the conversations coming through the comm - now that he was back in the Tower pretty much every communications channel was being fed through the receiver.

The laugh that came from Clint at that comment was enough to light up his entire face, his bright eyes crinkling and the high-pitched, infectious giggle making Phil's lips twitch in tandem. Phil hoisted the boy again, he'd been slipping down thanks to the oversized vest and less-than-fantastic orange blanket, and Clint sighed.

"This thing's heavy." Clint told him, plucking at the combat vest with his free hand and Phil shifted him again, before sitting down on the bed and settling Clint in his lap, tugging the earpiece free and returning his attention to his miniature charge.  
"Yeah, well, you're about one third your usual size. We'll get you out of it in a minute - we really need to get you some clothes."  
"Like SHIELD will have kids clothes anywhere." Clint rolled his eyes. Sure, it had been easy for Tony when he'd been 'transformed' - he'd just borrowed things from Pepper and Natasha, although he'd needed to buy bras, naturally, in his female form, Tony Stark was completely stacked. But as a kid? What were the odds that this particular situation had been anticipated?  
"You forget, Barton, you and your team have a range of action figures. I'm sure there's Iron Man pyjamas somewhere around here." Phil teased him, and Clint's eyes widened in horror.  
"You are not putting me in Iron Man pyjamas." Clint was glaring at him but, again, coming from a round-cheeked kid with tousled blonde hair it was more adorable than threatening.  
"What about a Captain America t-shirt? Those have been around since the forties. Don't you have one, anyway?"  
Clint did, in fact, have a vintage Captain America t-shirt from the mid-nineties, that he only wore at home and even then only to bed when all of his other t-shirts were dirty. He wrinkled his nose.  
"Weren't there Hawkeye clothes? I'm sure I remember some paperwork with fabric swatches attached."  
Phil chuckled and Clint tried to glare again, but Phil was stopped from answering by a flurry of movement at the door - Steve, Natasha and a doctor Phil didn't recognise all burst in at once.

"Clint? What the hell?" Natasha asked, ignoring Phil in favour of admonishing the blonde boy in his lap. Phil lifted Clint and settled him on the bed, getting to his feet and stepping over towards Steve as Clint glowered at Natasha.  
"Hey, I didn't do it on purpose, Tash." Clint countered, and Phil chose to ignore their arguing, it was easy, actually, aside from the higher pitch of Clint's voice, it was as if nothing was different.

"What have we got, Rogers?" he asked Steve as Captain America took his cowl off and scrubbed a hand through his hair, eyes flickering back and forth between Phil's face and the boy at his side.  
"Well, Tony's on his way back, he lost track of Thor over Virginia somewhere. Jane managed to get onto Heimdall and Odin has offered to send Loki down."  
"Are we sure we want Loki on this one? What about Frigga? Surely she'd know more about this kind of thing?" Phil asked, racking his brains for who else on Asgard might be able to help. Loki wasn't enemy number one any more, but he would still find this situation more amusing than threatening.  
Steve looked taken aback for a moment, before he seemed to remember that Coulson had been, for a long time, the primary point of contact between Earth and Asgard, as the first SHIELD agent that Thor had encountered and endowed with his trust.  
"Well, I suppose Frigga can help, but Odin seems to think Loki will be more useful."  
"Okay. Well, I guess we'll just have to trust his judgement."

"Hey, Phil?" Clint spoke up and Phil whipped around, having stepped away from the bed, and found that Clint had enlisted Natasha's help to get out of the combat vest - he was sitting on the bed with the orange shock blanket wound around his hips and Phil's mouth fell open at what he saw.

Clint's tattoos, all of them, were intact on the tiny body.

The St Christopher medallion to the left of his sternum, the constellation of red and green stars on his right pectoral, the three broad-head arrows down his right side, from armpit to hip, and as Clint twisted slightly to settle the vest on the bed next to him, Phil caught a glimpse of the rest, the wings on his shoulders and the dagger down his spine. 

"Oh, that is just strange." Natasha commented, reaching out as if to touch the marks but not quite making contact.  
"I don't think there's any more question about who I am, then?" Clint asked, looking from Phil to Steve and back again, both men gaping at him.  
"No, I don't think so." Steve muttered. They'd had the conversation about tattoos months ago, and had re-hashed it one night at the Mansion when Clint had been complaining about the latest addition - the third arrow down his side - itching like crazy. That conversation had denigrated to most of the Avengers (and Phil, who was visiting) showing off their various pieces of ink - including Stark's newly re-coloured shield - and Steve deciding that getting a tattoo might not be such a bad idea after all.

It also meant that everyone knew about Clint's etchings, and seeing them on the kid was the kind of irrefutable proof-of-identity that not even SHIELD could argue with.

"This is kind of trippy." Natasha commented, and Clint scoffed, the sound surprisingly adult coming from such a small person.  
"Yeah, and Stark being a chick wasn't?"  
"Okay, seeing tattoos on a kid is trippy. The fact that you're four is just another Tuesday. Happy?"  
"No. I'm starving." Clint crossed his arms over his chest and glowered. "And I want a shirt."  
"Oh, for heaven's sake- here." Phil shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it onto the bed, tugged his tie loose and then stripped out of his pale blue dress shirt, holding it out to Clint and ignoring the pointed looks he was getting from Steve, Natasha and the doctor still hovering in the doorway.  
"Any better ideas? It's not like we have kids' clothes anywhere!" He spat, making the doctor scurry away, Steve turn pink and Natasha give him a hard look, before turning her attention back to Clint, who was happily rolling Phil's shirt-sleeves up over his hands, having tugged the garment tight around himself the moment it was offered.

Phil stood there, looking at Steve and Natasha, in his undershirt, and waited for them to come back to their senses. It only took three seconds, but it felt like an eternity.  
"Romanov, see if you can find something other than my shirt that will fit him, please? Preferably before Stark gets here and starts his shit."  
"Yes, sir."  
"Rogers, can you try and head Fury off before he gets here?"  
"Sure thing."

And with that the two Avengers vanished, leaving Phil to slump on the bed, dropping his head into his hands, elbows on knees, and after a few seconds, Clint crawled over, leaving the blanket behind and dragging himself into Phil's lap, under his right arm.

"We really need to get you some pants." Phil commented, tugging the shirt down and buttoning it, grateful that it almost reached Clint's knees.  
"You've seen me naked before, Phil."  
"I know, but this is just... weird."

Clint reached up and slid his arms around Phil's neck, pushing his face into Phil's chest and taking a deep breath while Phil hugged him back, trying not to think too hard that just this morning this man had been naked in his arms, pressing fever-hot kisses to his neck.

"You're right. It is weird. But someone will be able to fix it."  
"I hope so."  
"I hope Tasha can find me some pants. It's cold in here."  
"Oh, for pete's sake, Barton-" Phil reached behind him and wrapped the shock blanket around Clint, over the shirt, tucking it in tight so that his legs were no longer exposed.  
"Sorry."  
"No, it's okay. Just... chill. Natasha is a ninja, if anyone can find clothes to fit you, it'll be her."

Phil was right, and Natasha managed to work miracles. Not least because she fostered good relationships with the admin staff. She came back into the room not five minutes later, brandishing a Bloomingdales bag and grinning. 

Well, smiling. But for Natasha, it was a million-megawatt-I-am-so-awesome grin. She held the bag out to Phil.

"Tracey in Human Resources has a son, he's just turned four. She went shopping on her lunch break and when I told her what happened she gave me these."  
"Are these- oh cool!" Clint had snatched the bag and was peering inside it, and tugged out a package of boys' underwear, each of the five pairs emblazoned with a different superhero, including Hawkeye.  
"Man, I wish they made these in adult sizes! I get to wear my own underwear!" Clint scrambled out of Phil's lap and stood up on the bed, leaving the blanket behind and tearing into the packet, tossing the Captain America and Iron Man pants aside before shimmying into the black and purple Hawkeye pair, lifting the shirt up and shaking his butt at Natasha and Phil to show off the logo.

Phil's smile was indulgent, but Natasha's was downright motherly, before she schooled her features and retrieved the other pairs, dropping them back into the carrier bag.

"What else is in there?" Clint pulled the bag away from Phil and pulled out two pairs of jeans and a couple of t-shirts, no logos on them, just plain cotton tees. He pulled Phil's shirt off and allowed Natasha to help him into the jeans, they were a bit long in the legs, and pulled the dark green t-shirt on by himself before standing in the middle of the bed and planting his hands on his hips.  
"Is this better?" he asked, cocking his head to one side.  
"Much." Phil smiled at him and picked his own shirt up, he was just fastening the last button when Director Fury entered the room.

"Oh, I see that you've already taken care of the clothing situation. Rogers seemed to think that Barton would be less than decent."  
"Tasha found them." Clint informed the Director, and Phil was suddenly acutely aware of just how _little_ Clint was, his high-pitched voice and the phrasing he used emphasising the fact that, physically, the boy wasn't even a kindergartener. Phil began to wonder how much of Clint's personality might be affected - surely four-year-old brain chemistry was different to an adult's? There were going to be far-reaching consequences of this little piece of trickery, and Phil was afraid that he would be the one left to deal with them, alone.

Without thinking about his actions, Phil stepped back over to the bed that Clint was now experimentally bouncing on and held out one arm, catching Clint around the middle and pulling him into a hug. Clint latched onto him, wrapping his legs around Phil's waist and leaning his head on Phil's shoulder as the Director looked at them, his expression even more unreadable than usual.

"The Asgardians won't be here for at least another five or six hours - but the rest of the team assures me that this is, indeed, Agent Barton."  
"Yep. I'm me alright. Want to see my tattoos?" Clint lifted his shirt before Fury could answer, revealing his arrows as the Director rolled his eye.  
"And the DNA swab that you did came back as a match, Coulson. You're in charge of him until Thor and Loki get back here. Find him some shoes and keep him busy."  
"I can hear you, I'm a kid, not deaf." Clint pouted, but Fury was already leaving, apparently dealing with a de-aged Avenger wasn't something he wanted to do, not if he could delegate it to Phil.


	4. Don't call him that.

Clint wasn't entirely sure what the big deal was - he had clothes, he was refusing to let go of Phil, and had proved, conclusively, that he was who he said he was.

The tattoos alone should have shut up the naysayers, but Phil still had to stare down two security guards before he was allowed to take Clint back up to his office.

"What am I going to do with you for five hours?" Phil muttered, hoisting Clint on his hip as they rode the elevator. Clint decided to help the situation by digging his knees in, trying not to slide down too far.

"No idea. You can't send me to the firing range like this."  
"Or the gym."  
"I'm hungry."  
"You had breakfast four hours ago."  
"Yep. Since then I've run about ten miles, killed a few things and been turned into a kindergartener."

Phil sighed.

"Fine. There weren't any shoes in that bag, were there?" Phil asked, and Clint considered for a moment before answering.  
"No."  
"Damn."  
"What?"  
"You're just getting kind of heavy."  
"I can walk!" Clint immediately began to wriggle and squirm in an effort to get to the floor.  
"You're barefoot!" Phil objected, shifting his grip so that Clint couldn't get down.  
"I've run through Central Park barefoot, Phil." Clint pouted a little and looked up at his handler from under blonde eyelashes.

There it was - Phil's resolve weakened and Clint gave him a winning smile, his tiny teeth punctuated by a rather large gap between the front two, and Phil caved.  
"Fine, but if we can't fix this before we go home we're buying you shoes."  
"Okay. Oh! Can I get the light up ones?"  
"What?"  
"I saw a kid the other day, in the park. He had shoes on with lights in the heels!"  
"Really." Phil was deadpan, he was still holding Clint at eye level and the elevator opened as Clint answered him.  
"Really. Red LED's, I think."  
"We'll see."

Phil didn't set Clint down when they got to his office, he didn't get a chance to, because Darcy spotted them from her desk and got up so fast she almost knocked her chair over.   
"Oh, oh my god. It's true. Tony told me but I thought he was trolling, you know, just being a jerk and being Tony, but oh my god. Clint. You are adorable!" 

Before either of them could object, Darcy had plucked Clint from Phil's arms and had settled him against her hip, one arm under his butt. Clearly she'd dealt with kids more than Phil had, because this was much more comfortable than an arm around the waist. 

"Where are your shoes?" she asked, picking up the bare foot that had been dangling in front of her. "Oh, duh. Of course. I'm surprised you managed to find clothes already. Want me to take him shopping, Phil?"  
"Not necessary, Darcy. We've got the Asgardians coming in this evening to see if they can reverse the spell - Stark's sending a jet to New Mexico now, they'll be here in about five or six hours."  
"Oh. Okay. So, why is he up here, then?"  
"Because I'm too bad-ass for daycare." Clint informed her, tugging on a wayward lock of her hair and making Darcy roll her eyes.  
"You do remember you have that appointment with the Senate Committee at two? Can't exactly re-schedule C-Span."  
"Dammit, I had forgotten. Can you watch him?"  
"Hey, don't I get an opinion?" Clint interjected, but was ignored by the 'adults'.  
"I can take him for the afternoon, but he will need shoes, Phil. Even if this is temporary he can't just wander around barefoot." 

Phil gave her a hard look and Darcy just smiled at him, then he made the mistake of shifting his gaze to Clint's. 

Damn. Worse than kryptonite. 

"Fine. Here-" he dug his wallet out of his back pocket and extracted a black AMEX, holding it out. Clint snatched it before Darcy could register what it was, and Phil began to lay the parameters.   
"Get receipts for everything, and you're filling in all of the expense reports when you're back to your regular size, Barton."  
"Yes, sir." Clint gave him a smart salute, another toothy grin and then waved the card at Darcy.  
"Dad just gave us his credit card. I think we need to do some damage with it." He told her, and something in Phil's stomach lurched at being called 'Dad'. He dropped his head into one hand and sank into Darcy's chair, shoulder slumping, resigned.  
"I'm doomed."  
"Yes, you are. Hand me my purse?" Darcy ignored his theatrics, used to it. Phil was so buttoned-down and expressionless in the field that, when he got to know and trust someone (like his p.a. or his boyfriend) he would turn into a complete drama queen around them.  
"Sure. Get him Iron Man pyjamas, for me?" Phil asked, lifting his gaze and shooting Darcy a grin that was about 97% pure evil.  
"No! No!" Clint objected, but Darcy ignored him.  
"I'll do my best, boss-man. C'mon, little dude. Shoes first."  
"You're lucky I'm only three and a half feet tall, Lewis."  
"Yeah, yeah. Come on, let's leave Dad to his boring Senate Committee and we can go to FAO Schwarz."  
"Oh, awesome. I never got to go there as a kid! And I'll fit in all the toys!"  
"Just have him back here by six! And no junk food!" Phil called after them, then leaned back in Darcy's chair, appalled. "Oh, dear god. I sound like my brother. Maybe I really am a dad."  
"Love you, Phil!" The high-pitched voice called over Darcy's shoulder, and he smiled at that.  
"Love you, too!" he replied, just loudly enough for his voice to carry down the hallway after them.

>>  
>>>  
>>>>  
>>>>>

"How much money did you spend?" Phil asked, incredulous, when Darcy and Clint came back into his office two hours later, Clint in an entirely new outfit, including a pair of purple All Stars with LED's in the soles and a Hawkeye sweater, Darcy loaded down with at least half a dozen carry-bags.  
"Pretty much all of it. He went a bit crazy when he found the Avengers t-shirts. Then there was the toy department..."  
"Check it out!" Clint tugged one of the bags out of Darcy's grip and pulled out a Nerf branded crossbow, still in its' packaging.  
"Oh, come on. Barton, seriously?" Phil was doing his best to sound exasperated, but the toy was actually pretty cool looking.  
"Hey, I wanted one even when I was regular sized." Clint told him, beginning to pry the toy out of its' packaging and giving up after five fruitless seconds, handing it over to Phil. Phil pulled a pair of scissors out of his desk drawer and had the thing free fairly quickly, handing it back to Clint with a smile.  
"That is going to end badly." Darcy told them both, dropping the rest of the bags just inside Phil's office door while Clint was busying himself with the various types of projectiles included with his bow.   
"Oh, he'll be fine."  
"No, he won't Tony spotted the packaging when we were coming back into the building and told me that he's going to upgrade it."  
"Stark is not going anywhere near any of Clint's toys."  
"Hey!" Clint pointed the bow at Phil's computer screen and fired, landing the suction-cup dart slightly off-centre. "Tony told me that he'd make it work better!"  
"Tony also built you the first set of incendiary arrows - remember how that turned out?" Phil asked, pointedly, and Clint automatically looked at his left wrist, where there was still a scar, albeit smaller on his skinny little arm, from where the first arrow-head he'd drawn on his recurve bow had exploded. The only reason he hadn't been blinded or injured further was because Phil had insisted on him wearing a mask while holding untested projectiles so close to his face.  
"Yeah, yeah. This is just a toy." Clint re-loaded and this time shot at the top of the filing cabinet, sending a plastic-tipped foam arrow sailing over it and into the inch-wide gap between the cabinet and the wall.  
"That's one. You've only got a limited number of those things, and I'm not retrieving them if you lose them."  
"Aw."   
"And I'm giving Phil the backup ammunition." Darcy demonstrated her commitment to the 'big sister' role she had taken on by handing Phil the two plastic packages of extra foam darts and arrows.  
"Okay, okay. I'll be good." Clint punctuated this promise by licking the suction cup on his most recently loaded projectile and aiming it at Phil's office window. It stuck, with a loud 'thwack', barely three inches from the ceiling.  
"And until that one falls down by itself you're not getting it back, either." Phil told him, dropping the spare ammo into the top drawer of the filing cabinet, safely out of Clint's much shorter reach. "Darcy, did you guys have lunch, yet?"  
"We had hot-dogs." Clint told him.  
"I thought I said no junk food?"  
"Hey, he wanted popcorn. We had sandwiches, too."  
Phil sighed, before kicking the drawer shut and locking the entire cabinet.

Tony Stark chose that moment to barge into Phil's office, and Clint rounded on him, bow up, aiming a dart directly at his forehead.

"Hey, Mini-Barton."  
"Dont' call him that." Phil commented, automatically, and Clint punctuated the sentence by releasing the dart, landing it not on Tony's forehead but on the lens of his sunglasses where it stuck with a wet 'thack'.  
"Don't call me that." Clint reiterated as Tony pulled his sunglasses off, making a face when he realised that it was, yes, saliva, that was holding the suction cup in place on his overpriced glasses.  
"Fine, fine. Hi, Clint. Thor's back, Frigga and Loki are two hours out, so our favourite God of Thunder wants to have a chat with you before his family arrives."  
"Frigga came down?"  
"Jane thought she might be of some assistance, and Fury asked Odin to send someone with Loki who might have a hope in hell of controlling him."  
"Alright, then. Where is Thor?"  
"On the roof, as per usual. He landed up there a few minutes ago."  
"Okay, let's go!"

Phil got out of his seat and stretched - the 'meeting' with the Senate Committee had been via teleconference and he'd been stuck in his office chair for the entire two and a half hours that Clint and Darcy had been gone - before holding out a hand to Clint.  
"What?"  
"Give me that, or you'll shoot all your darts off the roof."  
"Fine." Clint pouted a little but handed the toy over, Phil put it on the top of his filing cabinet then leaned down to pick Clint up.  
"Hey, I can walk, you know." Clint told him, but the way he dug his knees into Phil's stomach and gripped his collar betrayed his words.  
"You were drooping, your legs aren't as strong as they were this morning."  
"Yeah, yeah. Can you at least give me a piggy-back?"  
"No, you're doing enough damage to my suit as it is."  
Clint huffed, but didn't object any further, allowing himself to be carried through the halls of SHIELD and up to the roof, Tony and Darcy trailing in their wake. Thor was, indeed waiting for them, and caught both Clint and Phil in a rather exuberant embrace when they emerged.

"Hawkeye! I would apologise for your unfortunate transformation."  
"Don't sweat it, big guy. It wasn't your fault, I was going to shoot her, after all." Clint was leaning away from Phil and stretching towards Thor, so he was handed over and Thor held him up, inspecting him at arms' length.  
"Do you feel unwell?"  
"Nope."  
"You have not suffered any injuries? Amora did not harm you?"  
"Other than turning me four, no. She even left my tattoos. Look!" Clint scrabbled at his tee-shirt and tugged it free from beneath Thor's hand, showing him the heads of the arrows just above the waist of his new jeans.  
"It would appear that she has perhaps used a rather simple spell, one that will reverse by itself, in time."  
"Simple? He's four!" Phil objected, and Thor raised an eyebrow.  
"Yes, it would appear that all Amora has done is thieve thirty of Clint's mortal years from him."  
"What?"  
"Loki used to perform magics like this often, usually as punishment for a perceived slight. Sif spent the better part of one entire summer restricted to the age of nine, because she mocked one of Loki's attempts at sword-fighting."  
"The better part of a summer- are you saying he could be like this for _months_?"  
"Oh, no, the spell wears off after about ten or twelve days, usually. The reason Sif stayed young was because Loki kept her that way. Amora has vanished, so she can no longer keep Clint's years from him. They will return."  
"So, two weeks?"  
"Less than two of your weeks."  
"So, he'll gradually get older?"  
"No, he will stay this size." Thor was, by now, holding Clint on his hip as if he weighed nothing. "He will fall asleep one night and wake up the next morning back to his old self."  
"So I should sleep naked." Clint surmised, clearly taking only the important information out of Thor's speech.  
"Can Frigga change him back any quicker?" Phil asked, determined to find a solution that didn't involve a four-year-old Avenger wreaking havoc for almost a fortnight.  
"I am unsure, but she will be arriving in a few hours, she will meet us at the Mansion."  
"Okay, okay. Well, let's get back there, then."  
"Oh good, I'm hungry."  
"You just had a hotdog!"  
"That was ages ago! Can we get pizza on the way home?"

Phil sighed, Thor looked just as eager as the toddler he was wrangling, and Darcy very cleverly averted her eyes.

Some things never changed.


	5. Chapter 5

"A month? A month. A month, I can deal with that." Phil knew that he was babbling, but Frigga and Loki had just given him a more definitive answer than Thor had been able to manage, and the relief was palatable.

"Well, you need to be aware, Philip, that it may last longer than that. You said that you did not know Clinton when he was a child?" Loki was holding Clint at arms' length, between himself and his mother. He'd done... something... to the boy and he appeared to be sleeping, at any rate he was slumped between Loki's hands, eyes closed, looking like a rag-doll.

"No, we only met about two and a half years ago."

"Then he may be younger than he appears, but his articulation is giving the impression that he is four of your years of age. By my reckoning, Amora has stolen thirty years of his. On Asgard he would return to his proper age within two weeks, but magic works differently in this realm." 

"Would you like us to take him with us to Asgard? He would be back to normal quicker were he there." Frigga offered, taking Clint from Loki and pressing a kiss to the top of his head - Phil almost rolled his eyes, but remembered that Frigga wasn't just another grandmotherly figure, she was a goddess in her own right, and a powerful one at that.

"No, he'll be fine. We can do this for a month." Phil told her, and she smiled. 

"He belongs to you, doesn't he?"

Phil wasn't entirely sure how to answer that question. He didn't object when Frigga folded Clint back into Phil's arms, just cradled his head and found himself moving, bouncing on the balls of his feet, almost unconsciously. 

"Of course he does, mother." Loki's comment was offhand, but Phil still felt a blush rising in his cheeks.

"Just keep him safe, Philip. He'll be entirely dependant on you until his years return to him."

"Thor mentioned that the spell would reverse itself while he sleeps?"  
"Yes, it will. You'll need to keep him close, because it may be confusing. If you would like, we can send Sif to talk with him - Loki confiscated many of her years in their youth, she is aware of the... impact of sudden return to one's proper age."  
"That would be wonderful, Frigga. Thank-you again, you too, Loki."  
"Keep him close, keep him safe, and don't hesitate to bring him directly to Asgard if Amora reappears. Immediate reversal of this spell may be beyond our capabilities, but the All-Father may be able to help if you need him back in an emergency."  
"I'll keep that in mind."

Frigga left the room, followed by Loki, and Phil heard Thor greet them with his usual enthusiasm, but was distracted from their conversation by Clint stirring on his shoulder. He gripped Phil's lapel and snuggled into him, muttering something and pressing his face into Phil's shoulder, before turning his face a little and looking up through bleary eyes to meet Phil's bemused gaze.

"Loki put me to sleep, didn't he?"  
"Hey, you were the one who wouldn't hold still. He did warn you."  
"Not fair." Clint stuck his lower lip out and Phil had to bite the inside of his own cheek to stop himself from smiling at the look on his small charge's face.  
"Don't you want to know what the verdict is, Clint?"  
"Oh, yeah. Was Thor right?"  
"Not really. Frigga said that you've had thirty years stolen, and on this planet it'll take thirty days for them to get back to you. He was right about them all coming back at once, though."  
"A month?"  
"A month. Think you can cope with being a kid for a month?"  
"I think I can create complete chaos as a kid in a lot less time than a month."  
"Oh, you think I'm going to let you wreak havoc? Fury's given me personal leave to look after you while you're this size."  
"What? SHIELD can function without you?"  
"SHIELD functions perfectly well without me, and the Avengers are prepared to go into the field without you, so we've been given leave and the freedom to do whatever we want for the time you're such a short-ass."

Clint rolled his eyes and squirmed, so Phil put him down and he immediately ran out of the room, the lights in his shoes flashing as he shouted through the house.  
"THOR! WHERE ARE THE POP-TARTS?"

Phil closed his eyes for a moment, biting his lower lip to suppress a laugh. 

At least he'd have help with this kid-wrangling exercise - there was no way that the rest of the Avengers were going to get out of babysitting duties. Heavens knew, Phil had been looking after them for long enough, it was about time they returned the favour.


	6. Chapter 6

A month. One month. Four weeks. Twenty eight days, give or take. 

So, in other words, approximately seven hundred hours until Clint would be back to his usual self.

They’d been out to Coney Island on the Saturday and Clint had actually behaved himself, much more so than he would have if he was an adult, but it was just exhausting, chasing after someone so small who could move surprisingly fast. They’d gone back to FAO Schwarz and had spent what was probably an irresponsible amount of money on kid-sized archery gear, and when he’d caught Clint staring at the rest of the kids messing around with those new Nintendos he’d even picked one of those up for him. 

The other thing was that, even as an adult, Clint’s sense of decorum and self-preservation was muted at best, as a kindergartener most of his self-control seemed to have flown out the window. 

Oh, sure, there was a scientific explanation, Clint’s brain chemistry had reverted to that of a four-and-a-half year old boy, therefore his thinking processes, decision making and impulse control were that of a four-and-a-half year old boy. He still retained his knowledge and some of his skills, but his immature brain couldn’t keep up with his (for lack of a better term) mature mind.

So, basically, he’d reverted. This, ten days in, led to Phil doing something that he had sworn he would never do in this lifetime.

He asked Tony Stark for help.

Or, more to the point, he took Clint to Stark House and demanded that JARVIS find Tony for him so that Tony could do his fair share of Barton-wrangling.

The only reason that he was actually calling on Tony was that he was the only human being present in the house. Steve and Natasha had gone to some cultural thing in Brooklyn and Bruce was at SHIELD with the Director and Hill, their standing appointment to debrief him about exactly what Hulk had been up to while he was in charge. Thor was in New Mexico, again, still helping Jane and her crew pack up all their equipment, they were due to arrive in New York in the next couple of days. 

So, Stark it was.

“What? Can you repeat that, Coulson, I’m certain I didn’t just hear-”

“I’m not repeating myself, Stark.”

“Okay, but just so we’re clear, you are asking me for help.”

“Yes. Because you are literally the only person here.”

“Oh, don’t pretend like you don’t love me.” 

“Get up here or I’ll let Barton tase you, and I’ll video tape it.”

“On my way, boss-man.”

“Don’t call me that!”

But it was futile- Tony had apparently left the workshop already and the door had clicked, allowing him to step inside the lobby, Clint balanced on his hip and the Captain America backpack that Darcy had picked out for him slung over the other shoulder.

“Are you sure you really want to spend the afternoon with Tony?” He asked Clint, who was wriggling and trying to slide to the floor - Phil had mastered the art of holding him in place fairly quickly, but Clint still tried to escape - and Clint nodded, enthusiastic.

“He’s got robots, Phil. I want to see if I can make one bite him.”

Phil rolled his eyes at that, but allowed the tiny archer to drop to the floor, his heels flashing as he bolted straight to the top of the stairs that led to the workshop, greeting Tony with a barreling hug that almost sent the pair of them back down the stairs, had Stark not caught the doorjamb there could have been a very nasty accident.

“Steve looked after him yesterday, Natasha had him the day before and he’s going to a movie with Bruce tomorrow night. It’s your turn to take care of him and I need to get some work done.”

“I thought you were on leave until this was all sorted out?” Tony asked, picking Clint up and  batting the tiny hand away that tried to poke at his Arc reactor. It seemed that everyone had the same reaction to the miniaturised Avenger - they hoisted him into the air and held him close. Every single person who had seen him this size, even agents who had previously been less than impressed with him, or terrified, had been overwhelmed with an urge to protect him. 

Frigga had explained that it was part of the magic, on Asgard children were important because they were rare. Childhood only lasted as long for the immortal demigods as for the mortals of Midgard, so it was a brief time to be cherished. All Asgardian children projected a kind of innocence and curiosity that made adults want to care for them and ensure no harm befell them. The spell that had been cast on Clint had stolen his mortal years, but because it had been cast by a woman who had been educated in her magics by an Asgardian enchanter, she had inadvertently given him that same aura. 

So, all told, everyone had been volunteering to help Phil look out for his resized ‘man’... everyone except Tony. 

Stark had been avoiding the tower, hiding in his workshop for the better part of the eleven days since Phil had dragged Clint out of the smoking crater thirty years younger than he’d been that morning. This was the first time, since the first day when Clint had shown off his tattoos, that Tony had really seen him.

“Fury asked me to come in and deal with some of the junior agents, Hill’s not managing as well as she thought she would, apparently I’m the only one who can scare them properly.”

“Maria is way scarier than you, I can’t imagine why she’s having trouble-”

“And there’s also the issue of the media getting wind of Loki visiting the tower last week. Someone leaked a photo of him and there’s been a frenzy, the news stations are questioning SHIELD’s allegiance and want an inquiry as to why one of the ‘most wanted’ was seen being escorted out of one of our facilities, and not in chains.”

“Oh.”

“You really need to get JARVIS to upgrade your media saturation.”

“He gives me the stock ticker and filters anything to do with SHIELD or Iron Man out for me, I figure if it’s important enough then either you, Fury or Pepper will tell me about it. Or deal with it yourselves.”

Phil rolled his eyes and held out the backpack towards today’s babysitter.

“There’s a change of clothes in here, and his cell phone. He packed his own lunch so there could be anything in there from half a dozen apples to a box of mac and cheese. Have fun, and try not to blow anything up.”

“Bye!” Clint reached out and Tony angled him towards Phil, who was given a kiss on the cheek and a gap-toothed grin.

“Be good.”

“Never!”

“We’ll be fine. If he plays up too much I’ve got a containment unit I can put him in.”

“What?” Both Clint and Phil demanded, and Tony almost dropped Clint, laughing.

“No, no, I won’t do that. But I do have a big screen and I know he likes Harry Potter.”

“You have the Harry Potter movies?”

“I have all the movies, little dude.”

“Okay, well, I’m going to leave you two to it. Have fun, call me if you break anything, and please don’t buy him any more toys. He’s got enough as it is and he’ll be an adult again in less than three weeks, anyway.”

Phil turned and left the house before Tony realised exactly what he’d gotten himself into. He’d mentioned, of course, that Steve and Natasha had both spent time babysitting Clint, but he’d neglected to mention that both of them had given up on the task and called Phil less than four hours in, simply because Clint refused to listen to anything they said and was even more slippery as a kid than he had been as an adult.

That and he could fit into much more confined spaces, such as heating ducts, than he had been able to as a grown man, meaning that Natasha could no longer follow him everywhere, and Steve hadn’t been able to retrieve him for fear of doing the fragile little body some kind of harm. The only reason that Bruce was taking him to the movie was because they’d agreed to go see it before the incident, and Bruce didn’t want to hurt Clint’s feelings by not taking him. It was just fortunate that it was a Pixar movie and not something  deemed inappropriate for kids.

“So, what did the others do with you?” Tony asked, balancing Clint on his hip and dropping the backpack at the top of the stairs.

“Steve had colouring books and Natasha set me up a range to practice with my Nerf guns.”

“That sounds boring. Want to help me build a robot? You’ve got tiny hands, now, they’d be great for some of the finer wiring work. Much quicker than using pliers.”

“Can I keep one?” Clint asked as they descended the stairs, suddenly enthusiastic about hanging out with Tony for the day.

“Phil said no new toys.”

“He said we couldn’t buy toys. He never said anything about not building one.”

Tony grinned at the kid, pressing his free hand to the access panel and the door slid open.

“I like the way your brain works. What kind of robot would you like to build?”

 

>>  
>>>  
>>>>

Six and a half hours after he’d arrived at SHIELD and taken care of most of the problems that had arisen in his absence, Phil glanced absently at his watch and realised that he had left Clint and Tony alone almost seven hours ago.

Something close to panic began to rise in his chest, because he’d been expecting Tony to crack a lot sooner than Natasha had, and by the four hour mark Natasha had been sending him text messages every five minutes and calling every ten, demanding that he come and collect his charge.

He didn’t waste time, simply turned his focus to the computer screen and ten minutes later had hacked into the security feeds from Tony’s workshop.

Okay, so he didn’t actually hack in, more used a back-door access code that Stark had given SHIELD to use in case of emergency, or him not responding to anyone and locking himself in there for extended periods.

What he saw was almost worse than Tony having called him and told him that he couldn’t cope with a four-year-old Barton.

It took him a few seconds to process exactly what he was seeing, but when he figured it out he was out of his chair so fast that he left it spinning, shrugging into his jacket as he stormed down the hall and scared three junior agents into reconsidering their career choices with the ferocious growl he directed at them when they tried to stop him on his way to the elevator.

On the screen of his computer, he’d left the window displaying the security feed open, and visible was Tony Stark holding a pair of skinny ankles, the owner of the ankles was upside-down in an engine up to his wrists, slotted between the wheel arch and the engine bay for better access.

Yes, Tony was using Clint as an extension of himself to work on one of his cars. 

What Phil had failed to notice, however, was the small robot circling the car, which was programmed to respond to Clint’s voice, bringing him tools and snacks when he asked for them. The programming was very similar to DUM-E, basic command response with voice recognition, but this one had an extendable arm attached to the side that would be able to reach for and retrieve arrows as they were fired into targets. Well, Nerf arrows, anyway. Tony was going to have to alter the machine when Clint wanted to use it on the range, give it a second arm to stabilise itself against the targets, or make it a bigger, stronger unit that could just bring the entire target back to Clint for him to tug the arrows free himself. 

In the meantime, MAX was doing a great job, Tony had made him pretty smart, and he’d only bought over the wrong wrench once. He hadn’t even dropped Clint’s juice box when Tony had stepped back and he’d had to swerve to avoid being stepped on.

Most of Phil’s righteous anger at seeing Clint upside-down over an engine bay was vastly misdirected, mostly because Clint had volunteered for this particular job. The other reason was that he and Tony were actually having fun - they had Green Day and Nirvana playing through the speakers and had actually taken a break for lunch when JARVIS had informed them that it was one PM. They’d built MAX in the morning, Clint’s tiny fingers had been more than useful in re-wiring a section of DUM-E’s wiring that controlled the sensors in his main grip-claw, and the semi-sentient machine had practically purred in appreciation when it could grasp a wine glass without shattering it.

Then, of course, U had gotten wind that there were upgrades going around and rolled over to poke at Tony’s shoulder until Clint had been allowed to check his power systems and fix some of the bad connections to the main motherboard.

By the time Phil actually got into the workshop a half hour after he’d left SHIELD HQ Clint was sitting on top of the engine block wrist-deep in one of the engine cylinders, a rag wrapped around his knuckles as he cleaned the inside of the cylinder. He was filthy, covered in grease and oil, handprints on his ankles and wrists where Tony had been lifting him in and out of place and his hair had streaks of black through it where he had used some of the black grease to push it out of his eyes.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Phil demanded, some of his anger evaporating as Clint greeted him with a bright grin and startlingly blue eyes in his dark-with-grime face.

“Fixing this engine. I made a robot this morning, his name is MAX. MAX, say hi to Phil.”

Phil’s eyebrows drew together in confusion for a moment, until a robot the size of a toaster with four oversized wheels and a single gripper arm approached him, beeped twice and then retreated to its’ position next to the large red toolbox.

“You did what?”

“We built that robot. He helped me fix some of DUM-E’s ongoing issues, and his hands were small enough to reach the circuit that U kept tripping and shorting itself out on.”

Phil shook his head slightly, and turned when he felt something touch his elbow.

DUM-E was holding out a beer bottle for him and beeped, just once, then tilted it slightly to one side, obviously waiting for the bottle to be taken.

“Take it, you look like you could use it.” Tony told him, and Phil decided that the situation was surreal enough, a beer could only help. He took it, thanked DUM-E, who beeped again and retreated to it’s charging station in the corner. 

“So, you two have had fun?”

“Yes.”

“Definitely. I don’t know why Tasha couldn’t handle him. Maybe she’s just not the mom type. Though, you’d think Steve would be better with kids.”

“Wait, what? You knew that they both gave up?”

Tony rolled his eyes and picked Clint up from the top of the engine block setting him down on the floor and wiping both of their hands off on a relatively clean rag.

“Think about it, Coulson. SHIELD runs every single system on Stark Tech, and I invented just about every piece of Stark Tech on the market. Of course I know that they were both calling you after less than half a day demanding that you take him back.”

“So why did you-”

“Because they were treating him like a kid, making him do kid stuff. I figured we could just do the same stuff we used to do when we’d hang out, except he’s more use this size because he can get to parts of the engine I can’t reach.”

“Hey!”

“Well, it’s true. You want to come back tomorrow? We can work on your bike so that it’s upgraded in time for when you’re regular sized again.”

“Oh, that would be awesome. Hey, can we order a pizza? I’m hungry.”

“Sure. DUM-E, bring me a beer, Barton a Sprite. JARVIS, call that pizza place that knows what I like.”

“Certainly, sir. Would you like the call routed to your handset?”

“Yep.” 

An hour and three beers later, Phil was sitting on the sofa of the main living area of Stark House, Tony and Clint had both showered and changed, though Clint’s shoes were still filthy and would likely be beyond saving, at least, if they wanted the LED’s to still work. But for the moment Clint was watching Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets on the big screen while Phil and Tony reclined on the couch, all three of them munching on New York sized slices of pizza. Clint had been switched to milk after his single can of lemonade and Tony had opted for whiskey after he’d downed his first beer. 

“You can crash here, if you like, Coulson. There’s a spare room and everything, and I know you keep a spare suit in your car.”

Phil considered the offer and nodded, just once.

“That would be... that would be great. He’s- it’s hard, at night. He’s been having nightmares and doesn’t want to sleep.”

“I know how that feels. Half the time I end up taking something, or drinking enough, that I pass out. Shame we can’t give him booze.”

“I think he’d like it, actually, but his body wouldn’t cope. There’s not much you can give a four-year-old to help him sleep, except a couple of antihistamines, but the ones we’ve tried have just made the nightmares worse. And no kid his age ever had nightmares like he does, at least, I hope no kid that age ever had nightmares like his.” Phil drained his beer bottle and decided that if he was crashing at Stark House he might as well make a night of it. He flicked his top button open and loosened his tie.

“What are you drinking, Tony?”

“Oh, it’s Tony, now, is it?”

“I’m off duty. Don’t be sarcastic or I’ll get him to call you Daddy in front of the papparrazzi.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I’d do it in an Iron Man shirt.” Clint put in over his shoulder, then turned to face the pair of them. “And I’d call Steve ‘Papa Rogers’ at the same press conference. Be nice to Phil and give him some gin.”

Tony was dumbstruck for a moment, and Clint gave him a grin that was certainly not appropriate to appear on the features of a supposedly innocent child, before turning his attention back to Harry Potter.

“Gin and tonic okay, Phil?” he asked, draining his own glass and making his way to the bar for a refill.

“That would be lovely, Tony.” Phil relaxed into the couch cushions and smiled at the back of Clint’s head. It didn’t matter that he looked four, he was still fiercely protective of his handler-boyfriend-housemate, and apparently willing to use all the tools at his disposal to keep Phil happy.

Tony handed Phil his gin and tonic and Phil nodded his thanks, the three of them then settled down to watch the rest of the movie.

 


	7. normal is a relative term

It happened at around three AM, and like the Asgardians had promised, it was all at once. 

 

Clint woke up in a cold sweat, wondering why he could barely breathe, and mild panic set in when the entire world seemed to be off-kilter and... smaller?... than usual.

 

The return to being 34 also happened a week before anyone thought it would - Clint had fallen asleep on the sofa in the Mansion, dressed in his Captain America pyjamas, sucking on his thumb.

 

He had, in fact, fallen asleep on Phil's chest, watching Despicable Me with Tony, Thor and Steve. 

 

Since the day Clint had spent with Tony they had relocated entirely to Tony's place, not least because that night was the first since his transformation that Clint slept through without a single nightmare.

 

Phil initially put it down to exhaustion thanks to spending the day running around the workshop and getting under Stark's feet, but when Clint crawled into the king-sized bed the following night, willingly, Phil reassessed the situation.

 

"You like it here?" he asked, sitting on the bed next to Clint, holding one of Tony's tablets aloft, pausing at the end of the chapter of <i>Charlotte's Web</i> that he had been reading aloud, at Clint's request.

 

"Yeah, I feel safe here." Clint muttered. Phil cocked his head to one side, but let it slide. Barton was so close to asleep that it was unlikely he'd remember the conversation, and Phil felt a little bad for asking the question right at that moment, but it was the best way he knew to get actual truth out of Clint - wait until he's on the edge of sleep and slip an important question into the conversation without changing your tone.

 

Phil got off the bed, slotting the tablet into it's charging dock and walked around to Clint's side, kissed the top of the blonde head and left the room as silently as he could manage.

 

He went back downstairs and found Tony reclining on the sofa, sipping on something expensive, and Stark didn't look over until Phil had planted himself on the other end of the couch with a sigh.

 

"So, are you planning on staying here permanently? I mean, that room's technically Barton's anyway, and I wouldn't mind having you around here full-time, as long as you keep your Taser to yourself."

 

Phil sighed, rolled his eyes and shifted on the couch so that he was actually looking Tony in the eye.

 

"Tonight, for the first time in three weeks, he went to bed, voluntarily. And last night he slept through, no nightmares. Whatever you've got in the walls here, it apparently makes him feel safe enough to sleep properly. So, yeah. I think we'll be hanging around for a while. Do you have a problem with that?"

 

"No, Phil, I don't. Because I know that I have fucked-up enough nightmares and I only spent three months in a cave. From what I've read of Barton's file he could do that standing on his head, so the things that make him wake up screaming must be beyond the pale. You can stay as long as you need to, even after he's back to normal."

 

Phil let out a breath with a sigh, and his shoulders sagged a little. Tony shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable, and after a few seconds Phil took pity on him and changed the subject.

 

"Thanks. Got another glass for me to try that whiskey?"

 

>>

>>>

>>>>

 

Four nights later, Natasha and Pepper were, well, none of the guys actually knew where they were. But they weren't in the house. Bruce was in the lounge with the rest, ignoring them and tapping away at a table while Thor, Tony and Steve were arguing about what movies they could and couldn't watch with Clint.

 

"Hey! I only <i>look</i> four! We don't have to watch cartoons!"

"I actually want to watch this one." Tony put in, pointing at the Despicable Me cover on the screen, and Thor agreed with him.

"I like these new animated movies, Clint." Steve told him, and Clint just crossed his arms over his chest and tried to pout. 

 

Unfortunately, the bigger men in the room, all four of them, were by now immune to the bottom lip sticking out (well, except Thor, but he was getting himself another beer and couldn't see Clint making sad-face) and so Clint's objections to 'cartoons' were ignored.

 

"JARVIS - play Despicable Me. Now, Thor, remember. It's just a projection, you can't leap into the screen again - these things are expensive."

"I understand that, Anthony, but the Terminator was most sinister, and he was threatening that young woman."

"Who I explained was an actor, and the special effects weren't even that good. Just, drink your beer and watch this one. Besides, the humans in this one are a lot less lifelike."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and there's minions."

"Minions?"

"Just watch. Barton, get up here and quit pouting."

 

Clint rolled his eyes but caught the outstretched hand and allowed himself to be swung up onto the couch between Tony and Steve. Thor came back into the lounge with his six-pack of imported beers (he was trying brews from Germany this week) and cracked one open before planting himself on Tony's other side with enough force to make the couch bounce slightly and jostling Bruce (on Steve's other side) enough that he looked up from his tablet, realised that the movie was starting, and so put the computer down. 

 

Phil was watching the four men (and the four-year-old) settle in from where he was preparing popcorn in the kitchen, half an eye on the movie starting on the large screen in front of them.

 

Once he'd poured their snack into a large bowl he joined them in the lounge, but didn't risk the couch, settling himself in one of the armchairs.

 

Of course, he was then accused of hogging the popcorn and was forced to relinquish the bowl, and the ensuing scuffle resulted in the bowl being up-ended and the movie paused for a good ten minutes, until three more bags were popped and everyone was handed their own portion in a cereal bowl.

 

Well, Tony, Phil, Bruce and Clint got cereal bowls, Steve got a mixing bowl and Thor just grabbed one of the bags and refused to let go, not that anyone ever really argued with Thor when it came to popcorn.

 

So, 'guys night in', in honour of Clint still being four and not able to get smashed, was the six of them sitting in Tony's lounge room with beer (Thor and Steve) scotch (Tony and Phil) and lemonade (Clint and Bruce) watching a movie about a wannabe super-villain who adopts three orphan girls in order to carry out his next big score.

 

Due to the layout of the lounge space, the entire group kind of migrated about during the movie itself (that and everyone but Steve and Thor had already seen it), so that Thor ended up in an armchair, hugging his bag of popcorn and spilling most of it when he laughed uproariously at the 'freeze ray' scene. Steve refused to be moved from his end of the sofa, engrossed in the movie and grinning at the antics of the little girls, wondering who the voice actors were and marvelling at the animation.  

 

Bruce, who had seen the movie a few weeks ago, eventually pulled his tablet back out and began working on chemical equations, and Tony couldn't help himself, he plucked Clint off the sofa and dumped him in Steve's lap, ignoring the objections from both of them and leaned on Bruce's shoulder, reading over his shoulder and occasionally poking at the screen to correct Bruce's math.

 

Phil was half watching the movie and half watching the rest of the team, and honestly he was finding Steve and Thor's reactions to the film, combined with Bruce and Tony's borderline-crazy interactions rather more entertaining.

 

After the third time Steve jostled him with an over-enthusiastic laugh, though, Clint disentangled himself from Cap and trotted over to where Phil was now sprawled on the other couch, having kicked his shoes off and stretched his legs out, beer and popcorn resting on his stomach.

 

He'd been watching the movie, enjoying it, actually (the minions were kind of awesome, but somewhere in the back of Phil's mind he was mildly concerned that Stark might be getting ideas) when Clint stomped over and grabbed the beer bottle and popcorn bottle, relocated them to the floor and clambered up onto the couch, settling himself on Phil's torso, his head on Phil's chest and one hand gripping the ratty Ramones shirt Phil had worn for movie night.

 

"Oh, hello there. What's got you feeling all affectionate? You kicked me in the shins not an hour ago."

"Cap smells weird."

"That's Old Spice."

"It's funky. You smell nice."

"You did pick this cologne out."

"I did, didn't I?"

"Yep. You've got good taste."

"And right now I smell like strawberries because the only shampoo that I could reach was the one Natasha uses."

"I like strawberries." Phil took a deep breath in through his nose, dipping his head to bury his face in Clint's short, soft blonde hair.

 

Clint yawned, tilting his head up to meet Phil's lazy gaze.

 

"How much longer am I going to be this size?"

"Another seven or eight days, Clint. You know that. You've been asking the same question at the same time every single night."

"You noticed?"

"I'm the one you've been asking. Every night. For the last week."

 

Clint sort of harrumphed and buried his face in Phil's chest, and Phil was rather forcefully reminded of the first morning they'd woken up together, pinned to a king-sized bed in Stark's Malibu house, finding bite marks on his shoulder and unsure of exactly what Clint was going to do when he woke up and realised he was in bed with another man.

 

"I want to do things, Phil! I miss sex! I miss being able to get a hard-on! I want to be able to kiss you and mean it, not just hug you and let you kiss my cheek!"

 

Phil pulled his head back, trying to get a look at Clint's face, but the tiny archer still had his face pressed against Phil's sternum, and was apparently talking softly enough for the others not to have noticed. So he did what he could, sliding his arms around Clint's middle and squeezing him a little, whispering back.

 

"I know, I know... I miss having you curled up around me, too..." He ran his hands up and down Clint's back, making soothing noises low in his throat and after a few minutes he felt Clint relax, his head tilting to one side, and he was asleep.

 

About ten minutes later, Tony and then Bruce noticed this, and one by one the others all shut up, turning the movie volume down and keeping their laughter somewhat muted, until the movie finished.

 

And by that time, Phil was asleep, too, lulled by the steady breathing of the small person on top of him. 

 

"Should we wake them up?" Steve whispered to Tony, who shook his head.

"Nah, they'll be fine. Besides, I've slept on that couch. It's comfortable."

"Fine, have you got a blanket at least?"

"JARVIS?"

"In the main hallway cupboard, sir, there are polar fleece blankets that should suit your needs."

"Thanks JARVIS."

"You don't even know where the linen closet is in your own house without asking your AI?" Steve looked at Tony, incredulous, and Tony just shrugged, not even a little abashed.

"What? I designed him to run the house."

Steve rolled his eyes, and pushed past Tony to get a blanket, draping it over the pair asleep on the couch. Bruce had vanished downstairs, wanting to test a few of the equations he and Tony had been muddling out and Thor was in the kitchen. waiting patiently for his bedtime Pop-Tarts to emerge from the toaster.

 

>>

>>>

>>>>

 

"Ugh! What the- hell..." Clint pulled his head back and overbalanced, tumbling off of Phil and the couch, falling in an ungraceful heap wrapped up in a black fleece blanket, struggling to breathe and feeling something gripping his groin rather more tightly than he generally preferred.

 

"Clint? Clint!" Phil is awake and sitting up, staring down at the man tangled in the blanket, the size three Captain America t-shirt stretched absurdly over his muscled chest and the tiny red shorts looking extremely uncomfortable as they cut into his waist and thighs, one of the seams starting to rip already.

 

"Oh, hell, you're back!"

"Yeah, and I can't breathe! And I think that my nuts are going to be stuck inside me forever if we don’t get these shorts off of me, now!"

  



	8. aftermath

Unsurprisingly, they kept a lot of the toys.

Well, Tony tried to say that they weren't allowed to keep any of the toys - then someone [Natasha] pointed out that Tony had a dozen Iron Man action figures lined up along the top of his tallboy in order of which ones made the coolest noises... so he couldn't really talk about grown men playing with kids' toys.

 

>>  
>>>  
>>>>

When Clint fell off the couch at three AM and Phil helped him tear the shorts off (literally), there was a moment of severe confusion wherein JARVIS notified the rest of the team that a stranger had entered the house, simply because Clint's instantaneous return to his proper age had screwed with his sensors pretty spectacularly.

So, Clint was sitting naked (except for a strip of t-shirt still banded around his chest just beneath his pecs) in the middle of the lounge, Phil holding a scrap of red fabric in one hand and cradling now-passed-out Clint's neck with the other when Thor burst in, Mjolnir aloft and just as naked as Barton.

Well - technically he was _more_ naked than Barton. However.

Tony followed a few seconds later, not in the entire suit, just gauntlets, and Steve crashed through the window at the same time Tony raised his repulsors, skidded to a halt, shield aloft and demanding to know if everyone was okay and what the hell was going on.

He then turned a rather interesting shade of magenta when he realised that there were two naked men in the room and that one of them was passed out cold.

Phil tugged the blanket over Clint's midsection and gently set him down on the floor, raising an eyebrow at Thor who just tilted his head to one side slightly and dropped Mjolnir to his side.

"The magic has reversed itself. We did not expect this to happen for another seven days."  
"No, we didn't. Thor, where are your pants?" Phil asked him, keeping his gaze very firmly fixed on Thor's face.  
"Oh." Thor looked down at... himself... then back up at Phil. "Am I expected to be in uniform for every rescue?"  
"At least some underpants, man." Tony told him, leaning away and holding out his hands as if to shield his eyes from Thor's nakedness.  
"KEEP YOUR WEAPONS POINTED ELSEWHERE AND I WILL FIND CLOTHING, ANTHONY!" Thor boomed, raising Mjolnir again as Tony's palms (complete with repulsors) remained aimed squarely at his groin.  
"Oh for heaven's sake-" Phil grabbed a cushion off the sofa and tossed it towards Thor, who caught it with his free hand and used it to preserve what little of his modesty might be retained, and Tony lowered his hands, apologising. 

Then Tony seemed to remember that JARVIS had issued a warning blast and that Natasha hadn't shown up yet, nor had Bruce and opened his mouth to ask something - when the ceiling collapsed and Hulk roared before the last pieces had hit the floor. Natasha dropped down after him, silent as ever, and landed next to Steve.

"Shit! SHIT!" Tony immediately panicked - because chances were that Hulk would not react positively to two naked men and an unsuited Tony - and looked straight at Coulson for help. Phil, in jeans and a ratty t-shirt, holding an unconscious, naked Clint in his arms, was not going to be able to help, of course, but Tony still wanted his input, apparently.

Phil would gloat about that, later.

Natasha had two guns aimed at Phil and Clint, one trained on each forehead for approximately two seconds until she realised what had happened and holstered them both, before turning her attention to Hulk, who was staring at Thor and had stopped mid-roar. 

Steve stepped over toward Hulk as the dust settled and Hulk pointed at Thor.

"No cape."  
"Pardon?"  
"No cape! Thor has cape! Where cape!?" It seemed that the lack of clothing was not only a distraction, it was causing some identification issues for the big green guy.  
"It is still in my chambers, Hulk. When the alarm sounded I only caught Mjolnir, and forewent my armour."  
"HULK SMASH IMPOSTOR THOR!"  
"NO! HULK! NO! It was a false alarm!" Steve shouted, and Hulk turned slightly to look at him, one eyebrow raised.  
"No smash?"  
"No smash. Swim?"  
"Hulk swim. Hulk like to swim!" And before anyone could stop him he exited the room through the window Steve had smashed and leapt down one level, there were a few thundering footsteps and then a colossal splash. 

Steve took a couple of steps backwards and leaned over the balcony.

"The pool's going to need a refill, Tony."  
"Yeah, yeah. Is Barton still asleep?"  
"He will sleep for a day or so, his body needs time to recover." Thor informed them, switching Mjolnir to his pillow-hand and scratching his nose. "If there is no emergency, then I am returning to my chambers. Good evening!"

With that he turned his back (and Tony covered his eyes with his forearms while Steve lifted his shield to block the view, Phil was too busy with Clint to notice and nobody saw the sneaky smile that an appreciative Natasha may have let slip) and left the room, heading straight back down the corridor and up the stairs with bouncing steps.

"You had to wreck the lounge?" Tony demands of Natasha and she just shrugs, turns and skips over the balcony after Hulk, either supervising his midnight swim or heading off to wherever she's sleeping (nobody really knows) without saying a word.

"JARVIS?"  
"Sir?" The AI's voice was relatively clear, considering the large hole and significant amount of wiring hanging loose from the gap in the ceiling.  
"Compile a damage report and get it to me in the morning - I'm going to bed."

Tony left, too, so that just Phil, Steve and dead-to-the-world Clint were left in the remains of the lounge, dust still settling around them.

"Uh, do you need a hand with him?" Steve asked Phil, looking down at Clint, still limp, in Phil's arms.  
"That would be great- can you bring him up to our room."  
"Sure."

>>  
>>>  
>>>>

The next morning, when they woke up, there was a pair of adult-sized Captain America pyjamas, the same style as Clint had been wearing when he'd changed back, folded in a neat pile outside their bedroom door.

Nobody ever actually took credit for that particular present.


End file.
